


Entertainers

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 90's flashbacks, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bisexual Jughead Jones, F/M, Jug is p much forced to become a stripper, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Vampires, as well as choni, jarchie and bughead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: With college underway and a week away from getting kicked out of her house by her mother, it’s safe to say Betty Cooper is desperate and willing to take whatever job she can if it means getting a steady income — and that leads her to a sketchy nightclub called La Bonne Nuit, which is not at all what it appears. And it doesn’t take her long to unearth secrets that have remained hidden for well over two decades — or to discover just how trapped she becomes, as well meeting the lost boy, whose soul shattered twenty-four years ago.—Or, it’s 1995 and Jughead Jones is completely in love with his best friend, one of La Bonne Nuits best entertainers, Archie Andrews. It’s almost kind of sappy how he feels, so much so that he’ll do anything for him. Jughead is probably going to regret that, especially when their boss gives them an offer that can’t be refused.....,,,gay vampire au idk.





	1. Deal With The Devil

1995.

Dancing in the club was like dancing on the Northern Lights; beneath the dry-ice smoke swirled an array of blues, acid greens, hot pinks and gold. The music played over the dance floor as if it had fused with the bodies. The song playing wasn't exactly a favourite of Jughead Jones' but he let it slide. It was an annoying factor of working at a club. He just got used to the likes of Bryan Adams and The Backstreet Boy’s being overplayed to the point of literal pain, and in moments of temporary insanity, found himself bobbing his head, as if the song itself had crawled into his mind, taking over, lyric by lyric, pulling him further into a dreamy reverie.

"Hey!"

The voice made him jump slightly, and he lifted his head from the book he'd been buried in. He wasn't even sure of the name. Someone had left it on the bar, and it had a good enough premise to get him through six measly hours. It was hard to read. Bright greens and vibrant blues flashed erratically over scantily clad girls in glittering sequin, their hair a range of shimmering gold and liquid obsidian swinging haphazardly. They twirled around the poles situated around the club while others straddled the laps of entranced patrons. It was single handedly the worst place to try and read a book, to try and force himself into a world that wasn't this one. Where he had to work at a seedy underground strip club to pay for college. The club itself was grotty; a tiny boxlike room hidden in Riverdale's underworld. The place stunk of stale alcohol, sweat, and piss. If he inhaled enough, he'd probably get high off of the stink congealing in the air.

It wasn't ideal. But hell, he had no choice. It was either this or going back to live with his father, who spent most of his days bent over the toilet.

"Hey, darlin’!"

Jughead wasn't a stranger to zoning out. So it was almost second nature, like coming up for air, breaking the surface, allowing the heavy beat of some banger to flood back inside his ears and batter his brain as he plastered a fake smile on his face. His expression flickered to life as he bookmarked his page with a coaster, and set it down on rich mahogany, his fingertips not quite leaving the cover, gracing the spine. It was one of those nights where he just wanted to read, and lose himself inside fiction. Being a writer himself, he read books for inspiration, as well as pleasure. But it was hard to even get started on his own novel, when he was working nights at the club, and then five days straight at college. So reading books replaced that constant craving to write. Because if there wasn't some aspect of literature in his life, he'd go insane. He kept a battered notepad in his bag where he scribbled ideas, since admittedly, the club was full of potential stories just waiting to be written. He liked to play a game sometimes; making up the lives of random people he happened to catch, moving through the smoke.

The girl with a blonde perm pulled back by a headband and way too much lipstick? She was a Russian spy tasked with assassinating a squinty eyed man in a business suit she happened to be eyeing.

The dark skinned girl downing her drink? She had murdered her boyfriend after he cheated on her, and stuffed his body under the bed, making a run for it.

There was someone leaning over the bar. A girl in her mid-twenties with bright green eyes and golden curls pulled into a ponytail. Not exactly the type he could read. She looked far too boring. She was wearing too much foundation, her cherry red lipstick spread unevenly. Like the dancers, she wasn't wearing much of anything, just a bright green tube top, and he found himself rolling his eyes when she did her best to expose as much cleavage as possible. A song started up over the speaker, thankfully drowning out the first part of what she said.

"- drink?" was all he heard, and straightened up with a nod.

Jughead wouldn't call himself attractive. But he wasn't unattractive, either. You had to be at least fairly good looking to work at the club. He was all dark and brooding, raven hair falling over blue-grey eyes, a permanent look of irritation on his face. The club didn't have a uniform, but he was expected to wear a tight white shirt tucked into leather pants. Which made him look like a goddamn porn-star. Though at least he wasn't one of the male entertainers. That was a whole other story. He caught glimpses of them every so often, glistening olive skin swimming under the club lights. There were eight of them in total. four guys and four girls. Sure, the girls caught his eye sometimes; their bright smiles that were so obviously fake, especially when their eyes were so hollow; so dead.

They were all in their own crumbling states of woe, college students trying to get as much cash as possible, truly hitting rock bottom. The guys were no different. But they had an energy in them that sent his heart into a frenzy.

Grabbing a glass from behind the bar, he shoved it under the vodka nozzle, pulling Goldie a drink. He hadn't heard her order, but most of the time it was just straight up vodka. Especially for the girls. Jughead didn't speak as he slid the glass over to her, only nodding politely. When she opened her mouth, his eyes darkened, his lips twisting. He didn't say, "Go away" because he wasn't allowed to say that. But through a simple look, thankfully the girl got the message and clattered off in her heels, very nearly spilling her drink over herself. Once he was sure the woman was completely out of his vicinity, and the bar was empty, he reached for the book and pulled it open. He was only a few chapters in. The writing wasn't perfect, but the story itself was intriguing enough for him to read on. It was better than listening to another remixed ballad.

"Reading on the job?"

The voice was familiar this time, ripping Jughead from the top paragraph of the book. But this time he didn't scowl. Instead, his lip curled into a slow smile as he put the book down. "No," he said, his gaze flicking to the tall redhead leaning over the bar, his arms folded over a strongly built up torso glistening with perspiration, ending at frayed pale blue jeans perfectly sculpted to his legs.

Archie Andrews was the complete opposite of him. He was ripped, confident, overly optimistic, and had a smile that Jughead was sure could cure diseases. And yet somehow, they fit. Jughead watched, slightly in awe, as red lights shimmered over Archie, turning his mop of straggly, crimson curls into an inferno. There was glitter on his cheeks, and his lips were redder than normal, smudged a little. Even dishevelled, his best friend looked fucking beautiful. It was no surprise to him that Archie was an entertainer. It still confused Jughead how and why they were friends. They just… were. They met in college dorms and since then they had been inseparable. Though what started as a friendship had twisted into something else, something beautiful, which neither of them wanted to label.

"Uh-huh." Archie's breath was heavy, probably from his last customer. He smirked at the discarded book, the warm browns of his eyes igniting under the spotlights. "What book is it this time? You do realise Hiram said if he catches you reading one more time—”

Jughead rolled his eyes. He didn't want to talk about the book. Hell, he didn't even want to talk. So instead of striking up a conversation, he leaned across the bar, wrapped his arms around his best friend's waist, and pulled him closer. Archie let out a breath, but he wasn't a stranger to these touches. It was an awkward position, forcing Archie against the bar, while he leaned forward, but Jughead had been craving the redhead all night. Sometimes he peeked up from the book, and through wisps of curling smoke and shadows, he'd catch Archie straddling some weirdo's lap, his movements suave, sexy, hips swaying, eyes shimmering. It drove him crazy. So this was his only chance to make Archie his again. Running his hands through the boy's curls, he pulled the boy into a kiss, which was slow at first. Archie was always hesitant, still unsure what he wanted to call whatever this was. But Jughead was more forceful, his grip tightening on damp curls, pawing hands going to his shoulders, his chest, before entwining around his neck once more. In Jughead's mind, there were fireworks. Archie was this piece of bliss in his life that he wanted to hold onto with everything he had. They spent nights together, legs entwined, talking about everything and nothing. It wasn't perfect. But it was theirs.

Archie's hands were already going to the waistband of his pants, and as much as he wanted the boy to continue, they were both working, as well as being sprawled across the bar, in perhaps the most uncomfortable position ever. So instead, he enjoyed the present, paying attention to every detail. The way Archie chuckled into the kiss, the sweat beading down his forehead. His lips tasted like stale cigarette smoke and cherry lip gloss—

Jughead's eyes flew open, and he pulled away slightly. Though he didn't let go, his gaze flitting over the spray of freckles dancing across Archie's cheeks. Hitched breath, lips inches apart, foreheads bumping, Jughead raised his brow. "Veronica Lodge?" he murmured, tightening his grip around the boy. He couldn't help being possessive. It was Archie, after all. He was still unsure how the hell he'd gotten the boy in the first place. "More importantly, the bosses daughter?"

Archie cocked his head, a smile curving on his lips. "Are you jealous, Jug?"

His tone was teasing and suggestive. Like the way he was when he was working. That ignited something inside Jughead, and he wanted Archie to do the things he did to him. Right now. But he couldn't seem to stop thinking about the fact that the boy tasted like Veronica Lodge. His lips, his tongue, and teeth. Maybe he was paranoid, but did Archie smell like peach and mango perfume? Wasn't that Veronica's? Wasn't she dating someone?

Archie, of course, was loving the expression on his face. He captured Jughead's lips once more in a soft kiss. A reassuring kiss. But this time Jughead was slower, less passionate. Asshole, he wanted to growl into the boy's mouth. What the fuck, Archie?

Jughead wasn't sure what he was. He liked girls, and had dated a fair amount over the years. But since Archie, he wasn't sure if he was completely straight. There was something about the boy that he just clicked with. They weren't together, and Andrews definitely wasn't his boyfriend. He figured they had a “friends with benefits” type of thing going on. He enjoyed the boy's company, and vise versa. The sex was amazing, and maybe in the future he might want to call it something. But Archie wasn't the type of guy to settle. He was majoring in music and wanted to start a band, travelling around the world. So Jughead knew whatever they had, it wouldn't last. No matter how much he secretly wished it would. Instead of giving Archie the satisfaction of knowing he was in fact burning with jealousy, Jughead hummed, his fingers moving down Archie's chest and pulling at the boy's belt. Part of him wanted to show Veronica that Andrews was his. Archie's muffled moan sent his stomach catapulting, his breath choking from his lungs.

"Jug." Chuckling, Archie pulled away, and Jughead's hands fell limp. He was definitely hard, and flustered, and this was definitely the worst time. Archie was a fucking tease, and he hated it. But he'd never show that he hated it. He straightened up, licking his own lips and tasting Veronica Lodge's lip gloss. He wondered what happened between them. Veronica was known to have screwed pretty much every male and female entertainer, and was currently dating one of them, a pasty white girl with a shock of red hair, who usually headlined the main stage. Cheryl Blossom. She was probably the reason people kept coming back. Even Jughead had found himself mesmerised by her; a blur of scarlet wrapped around the pole, capturing every eye in the club. She really knew her way around that thing.

"So how was Ronnie?"

That wasn't supposed to come out. The words he meant to say was, "When do you get off?" but apparently, his mouth had other plans.

Instead of speaking, Archie reached over the edge of the bar and hooked his finger along the fabric of Jughead's shirt. "Relax." His voice was soft, a breathy murmur, almost a chuckle. "My lips were dry so Ronnie lent me her lip gloss."

Possibly to drive Jughead even crazier than he already was, his tongue flicked out, grazing his bottom lip. It was a signature move, and it took every ounce of Jughead's self control to stay angry. He had trouble believing that Veronica had just innocently lent Archie her lip gloss. Especially when she'd been flirting with him for a while now. It wasn't much. And as much as Jughead loved his best friend, he was oblivious as hell. Veronica was very touchy, wrapping him in a hug every time she walked past, her wandering hands moving down his back. Sure, Veronica Lodge was dating Cheryl Blossom, but it didn't mean she couldn't have fun with Archie, too. She liked all flavours. Which meant Archie wasn't safe.

"Bullshit." Jughead resisted against an eye-roll. God, he was a bad liar.

Archie adapted a look of mock innocence. "Oh yeah?"

Jughead opened his mouth to speak, perhaps to yell at the redhead, or kiss him again. He wasn't sure. He was a flustered, clammy mess, and whatever game Archie was playing, it wasn't helping. But a voice shocked him out of it. It came quick, official, slamming into him. Archie flinched slightly, following his gaze. The two of them sprung away from each other. The boss wasn't a fan of intimacy of any kind. Especially during their shift.

"Jones, Andrews!"

It could only be one person, especially if their voice had garnered that reaction from both boys. Especially when their pet names were shouted out over the beat of the music. Jughead found himself standing inches away from Hiram Lodge. The club owner. Hiram reminded him of a mafia boss. He was tall, dressed in his signature suit, dark hair glued back with hair gel. He had his usual shark smile, which constantly put Jughead on edge. He wasn't sure if Hiram was about to fire them, or congratulate them. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the book still sitting on the bar. Hiram oozed the type of confidence Jughead never had. With just a look, he could capture your gaze. And Jughead always found himself getting lost in the man's eyes. They were a colour he couldn't quite distinguish. It was like falling into a trance every time the man spoke to him, and he got tongue tied, his words turning into alphabet soup choking in his throat.

Don't mention the book, he mentally begged. Please, God, don't mention the book.

Thankfully though, Hiram didn't bring up the paperback sprawled out on its spine. His eyes were instead on Archie, shining, that ever present shark smile widening. Hiram looked at his entertainers like they were slabs of meat, and Jughead hated it.

"Andrews! Nice work tonight. You were quite the performer!"

At this point, Jughead couldn't tell if the man was being genuinely nice, or patronising. Archie nodded with a smile, his cheeks reddening. He almost looked like a puppy that was being given a treat. Jughead had to bite back his scoff. "Thank you, Mr Lodge."

"Fancy a promotion?"

For a second, Jughead was sure he was hearing things. But - no he wasn't. Archie's eyes lit up. "Wait, seriously?"

The man chuckled. "Of course! You're one of my best boys, and Jones?" His gaze snapped to Jughead, his smile widening. "Jones, you're wasted potential stuck at the bar. I've had numerous complaints that you're not out there with my boys. I think I'm going to make a few changes around here.” He picked up the book, and to Jughead's shock, threw it over his shoulder. Jughead followed the path of the book, trying to pinpoint where it had landed, but it was pitch black. Hiram snapped his fingers in front of his face, and he drew back. Even with the music blasting, Hiram's voice was still crystal clear. He heard every syllable in clarity. "Snap out of it, boy. Stop fucking daydreaming, alright?" There was a fire in the man's eyes that he was suddenly deathly afraid of. Jughead was used to being spoke to like shit from other bosses. But Hiram Lodge was a whole other level. "I want you out there with Andrews," he said. "I'm not having you standing here with your head in a book every night, ignoring my customers. Do you understand me?" And just to be an ass, he repeated the question in Spanish: "Me entiendes?

If it was anyone else yelling at him, Jughead would have struck back. But there was something about Hiram Lodge that had him backing down, swallowing the burning rage in the back of his throat. Looking at Archie, the boy was completely captivated by either the man himself, or the idea of being promoted. Probably both. He really needed the cash.

"I..." Jughead smiled, though it was more of a grimace. He gripped the edge of the bar, forcing himself to look the man in the eye. Archie sent him a reassuring smile, but it did nothing to stop the aching in his chest. The idea of becoming an entertainer, seeing himself in barely any clothes, exposed for the world to see, under lights that transformed him into the main attraction, perched on the lap of some stranger with wandering hands. It had taken Jughead nearly a year to get used to Archie, and even then, he was still self-conscious about his body. Hiram Lodge was textbook fucking insane.

But obviously he didn't say that. He inhaled, and pushed the words out before he could stop himself. "Mr Lodge, I'm not, uh - I'm not comfortable with becoming an entertainer." He waited a second, swallowing hard. "If that's okay."

There was a pause, before Hiram laughed. But he wasn't smiling. His stomach twisted. "Well in that case, the door is there. There is no picking and choosing, Jones. You're either an entertainer and you both get promoted, or you're out on your ass."

"What?!" Jughead couldn't help hissing. "Mr Lodge -"

"I'm being completely reasonable," Hiram cut in. "Entertainer or out.” He cocked a brow. "What's it going to be? Because you have thirty seconds."

There were so many things he wanted to say, but he swallowed them down. He needed the money, and it was hard enough tracking down this job. "What kind of promotion?"

The man shrugged. "You becomes an entertainer, and I pay you a lot more."

Jughead gritted his teeth. "I can't dance," he said. "Literally, I can't dance for shit. Your customers will laugh at me."

The man cocked his head. "Andrews will teach you," he said. "And if you can't get the gist of it, we'll move to more pressing measures."

"What?"

"Jug, just do it," Archie spoke up. "We need the money, right? We can get our own place!" Maybe it was Archie's words and his use of "our" that brought Jughead's barriers down, or perhaps it was Hiram's gaze that never strayed from his. It was almost greedy, wanting. If he kept eye contact with Mr Lodge for long enough, he felt his resolve crumbling.

"Fine," he said, and was surprised when the word flew out of his mouth. It was too late to bite it back. Before he could, Hiram pulled out a yellowing piece of paper, far too fast. "Excellent. Wonderful to have you on board. If you'd both like to sign this."

"You threatened to fire me," Jughead grumbled. "I didn't have a choice."

Archie shot him a look, and then nodded at the man. "Do you have a pen?"

Hiram shook his head. “Ah, you’ll be signing a different way, Mr Andrews. Why don’t you two follow me so we can officialize things?”

The corner's of Jughead's lip curved. "You mean like a contract?"

"If you like."

Jughead didn't like this. The so-called contract was just a page of scribbled handwriting he couldn't read. He wanted to grab Archie's hand and make a run for it. They'd find new jobs. Better jobs. Where they weren't grinding on the laps of random people. He turned to the redhead, with the words, "Can we go?" on his lips. But Archie was already smiling brightly at Mr Lodge, far too oblivious to realize something was wrong. He hopped over the bar quickly, with the intention to grab Archie and make a quick getaway, but then icy fingers wrapping around his elbow, holding him in place. Everything seemed to fizzle out, then. The thrum of music in his ears, the synchronised dancing of the girls on the poles. Everything. All he could see was Hiram Lodge, and that hunger in his eyes. The man let go of his arm with a smooth smile, and shivers zipped up and down his spine like bolts of electricity.

"Follow me, boys," Hiram said, and his words were like a siren's song. Archie pushed off the bar automatically, nodding excitedly. Jughead found himself backing away. It wasn't like he hadn't been in the backrooms. He knew them off by heart, after four weeks at the place. But now, it felt different. Like Hiram Lodge was leading him to a whole other world. But it wasn't too late. The door was right there. He could step out at any time. Hiram didn't know his full name, or where he lived. His application to get in had essentially been a Polaroid of his face. No qualifications or skills needed.

"Archie," he said softly. "Please can we go?" His tone was desperate, and fuck, he didn't care. "We can get another job, and I'll quit college if I have to. Just, please. Can we just...can we go?"  
From the look in his best friend's eyes, Jughead realised his redheaded friend was completely under Hiram Lodge's spell.

"Jug." Archie reached out and grabbed his hand playfully, tugging him to follow Hiram. He wasn't looking at Jughead. Or anything for that matter. Instead he was gazing into thin air, his smile bright, eyes unblinking. "We'll finally have enough cash to get our own place! Isn't that amazing?" He'd said that three damn times.

Jughead couldn't reply. He found himself being pulled through the back doors behind the bar, into the familiar dim-lit hallway which led to the staff-room. He'd walked down here so many times, usually listening to his Walkman. Though Jughead had never stopped to wonder why the walls were bare, the air was so cold. Why the place looked barely lived in. He stumbled over himself, trying numerous times to free himself of Archie's grip. But it was locked tight around his arm.

"Archie..." he moaned, trying to swallow a fearful cry which was squeezing his lungs. "We can still...we can still run." He was eyeing the doors at the end, where Hiram was standing, holding one open for them.

There was something about his smile. Something that stopped the fight inside his head, dulling the constant, overwhelming urge to run. He found himself walking faster, hand in hand with Archie. Fog seemed to envelope his thoughts, thick and fast, turning them to molasses. Suddenly he couldn't speak. He could barely breathe, only stare ahead of him. His body felt like it was being puppeteered, dragged ahead of his soul.

When they reached the door, the man grinned down at him. "You don't look so good, Jones. Why don't you step inside so we can finalise your contract?"

No. A voice in his head screamed. No!

But logic seemed to disappear, all fear and uncertainty fading away into a haze - similarly to the dry ice circulating throughout the club’s main floor. And squeezing Archie's hand just that little bit tighter, Jughead stepped into the room, straight into oblivion that swallowed them both up.


	2. Beat it, Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jug is a total asshole.

Present day.

The tiny café huddled despondent among the huge town buildings. Washed out under the overcast sky, it hunched in on itself, fighting against the drizzle. Hundreds of people rushed by it, outside on the crowded street. The half a dozen customers glanced up as the door swung open, heralded by a blast of cold wind. Unlike the outside, the interior of the café was warm and cheery, with bright lights and colourful walls. Betty Cooper looked up from her coffee, her gaze flitting to the newcomer. It was a guy clutching his laptop to his chest. His eyes were wide, lips twisted slightly, as if blaming the weather - when it was, in fact, his fault that he hadn't put the Macbook in a bag, or at least worn a jacket. Riverdale's weather was pretty erratic, though. It was sunny earlier.

Betty liked the sun after the rain. The way it lit up every shop window, warm golden light illuminating the slow descent of raindrops. It was one of many things she loved about the fall. Turning away from the frazzled boy and his laptop, Betty went back to staring at her coffee. Veronica was late - as always. And part of her was fine with it, because everyone was late, right? But Betty Cooper happened to be a perfectionist. Everything had to go right, and by schedule. She had meticulously planned a study date, which lasted exactly twenty minutes. It was Veronica's break at work, so as much as she wanted the date to go longer, that was impossible. Unless Veronica wanted to get fired.

But the girl was now eight minutes late. Which left them with around thirteen minutes of study. Add on the small-talk and ordering a drink, they weren't going to get anything done. Betty had her notebooks piled on top of each other, her laptop opened up and idle on a Wikipedia page she'd been looking at. She was all ready to go. Veronica, however, was not. Betty frowned at the empty seat opposite her, before grabbing her phone.

She sent a quick text. Nothing too pushy: Hey, where are you?

After several seconds of waiting for an instant reply, Betty's gaze snapped to the window, where her reflection stared back. She winced. Turbulent blue eyes stared back at her through unbrushed golden curls. She'd brushed her hair this morning, sure. But after a full day of classes, and getting soaked and then overly warm repeatedly, she'd ended up looking frazzled. Frowning, she reached up and dragged a hand through unruly curls, attempting to make it at least semi-presentable. Apart from her hair, she looked reasonably okay. The pastel sweater she'd thought was a good idea was still damp from the storm, but it was fairly warm in the cafe. She'd dry out soon enough. Though Betty had no idea what she was going to do when she went home. Unlike the majority of her college peers, Betty had decided to stay with her mother during her first year at Riverdale University. And it was a decision she was quickly regretting. Alice Cooper had dropped the bombshell over dinner last night, that she'd have to find a job quickly.

And Betty, struggling to stay awake, had lifted her head, her eyes narrowing. "What?"

"A job, Elizabeth. You need to pay to stay here, sweetie. You can't live here for free."

Of course she wanted to argue, but trying to win a war of words with her mother was like banging her head against a brick wall. So she'd simply nodded. "Okay."

"By the end of this week, Betty."

So that was another thing to worry about. On top of stressing about classes, she had to find a job. Or else she was getting kicked out.

Maybe that was a good thing, though. She could apply for dorms, and live the student dream. But dorms were expensive. Her mother didn't like lending her cash, and a part time job wouldn't even pay for half of the semester. So she was pretty much screwed.

The sound of the door opening had Betty twisting around in her seat once again. But this time it was a group of teenage girls, all giggling to each other. Swallowing a hiss of frustration, she turned back. No notifications on her phone, and now Veronica was nearly fifteen minutes late. So that meant their study session was pretty much over. Betty's classes were finished for the day, and going home to her overbearing mother wasn't exactly appealing. She took a sip from her drink. It was lukewarm and kind of gross, but she continued drinking anyway. Maybe if she stopped thinking about Veronica bursting in spewing apologies and focused on her mocha, the girl might actually miraculously appear.

"Excuse me, may I sit?"

Looking up, there was a girl looming over her. The only way Betty could distinguish the hooded figure was a girl was the fiery red hair that looked burning to the touch. Orange sunset locks capturing the light in vibrant ruby hues; flowing, cascading down to her shoulders. When she straightened up with an awkward nod, pushing her laptop and textbooks out of the way, the girl sat down, reaching up and pulling her hood down. Betty couldn't help letting out a breath. The girl was beautiful. She looked around Betty's age, but surely she wasn't a student. Her skin was snow white, and in the contrast of her hair, she actually looked like a fairytale character. Her cloak seemed to float around her. She took all of Betty in, her gaze flicking over her in careful strokes, before her bright lips stretched into a smile.

"Are you in need of a job?" The girl leaned forward. Her voice was like wind chimes. When Betty didn't answer straight away, the girl reached into her cloak and pulled out a hot pink flier and pushed it towards Betty.

The flier looked like it had been made by a seven-year-old. It was an advertisement for "male and females" who were interested in becoming entertainers at some kind of club. Below the information was a badly edited image of a girl straddling a stripping pole. Betty would have laughed, if it wasn't for the serious look on the girl's face.

"Why don't you give it a go?" she murmured, her voice, once again, sending her into a tailspin. Betty stared at the redhead. How did she even know Betty needed a job? Could she read people that easily? Did she voice some of her thoughts out loud?

She ended up smiling politely at the girl. "I'm -" Betty was about to make up an excuse that she already had a job, when a familiar voice cut in.

"She's not interested."

Veronica. Betty lifted her head and found her friend standing over the redhead. Her friend wasn't smiling. And she wondered why. Betty had known Veronica for a while now, since they were in the same classes. But she didn't really know the girl outside college. Except from these types of meetups. She didn't even know where the girl worked. Though it was always on dark and dreary days, when the girl agreed to meet up. Veronica was chocolate, while she was vanilla. With light olive skin and long sleek dark hair that reached her shoulders, the girl resembled an Egyptian princess, garnering looks from patrons sitting around Betty. Veronica wore a bright yellow raincoat over a form-fitting black dress and tights, her hair spilling from the hood in damp rats tails. Even soaking wet, the girl was gorgeous. Betty felt flickers of envy curling in her gut. She swallowed.

The redhead didn't argue with Veronica, and instead stood up, never losing her smile. "If you change your mind," she said, leaving the flier on the table.

Veronica sat down quickly, grabbing the flier and screwing it up. "She won't," she said, and the girl only giggled.

"Veronica, sweetie, I'm just doing my part!"

Betty waited for the girl to say something else, but she turned and walked away. It almost looked like she was floating, her cloak following her. Watching her go, Betty caught a glimpse of bright red sequin flashing from the cloak, before the redhead pulled open the door and sauntered into the shower. Maybe Betty was seeing things, but it almost looked like she herself bled into the twilight haze, walking into oblivion.

"Sorry about that." Veronica's voice captured her attention once more. The raven-head seemed to pretend the redhead hadn't even appeared. "I was kept back at work, and I have like...five minutes to talk." The girl laughed. "I need a drink," she muttered. "Alcoholic. Something strong that will numb me for the foreseeable future."

Betty nodded, feeling the awkwardness begin to disperse. "Honestly, same." She giggled. "I've been dying for a drink for a while now." She paused. "Hey, maybe tonight -"

"Can't." Veronica groaned. "I've got work."

"Oh, right." Betty resisted rolling her eyes. How were they supposed to get anything done when Veronica cared more about some part time job? The only time they got together were on Veronica's off days, which were rare. The last time had been at the start of the summer, and they'd had a scary movie marathon at Betty's house, of course. She'd never been to Veronica's. Hell, she had no idea where the girl even lived.

After an awkward pause; "Did you know her?"

"Hmm?" Veronica was staring at her mocha, a far away look on her face.

"That girl," Betty said. "The redhead. Did you know her?"

"Oh, right. Yeah. She's an old friend."

"An old friend?" Betty leaned forward, curious. She was majoring in journalism - so it was her job to ask questions, to be curious. Veronica had always been mysterious, so she deserved at least a little piece of the girl's life. "Like a school friend?"

"No, she's no one," Veronica said quickly, before sighing and jumping up. "Okay this was great, Betty, but I've gotta get back to work. I'm really sorry." She smiled hopefully, before draining the rest of Betty's mocha and pulling a face. "Same time tomorrow?"

"Sure." Betty forced a smile. She watched the raven head leave, before the screwed up ball of paper at the corner of her eye caught her attention. Betty unravelled it again, peering at the information. The words YOUNG AND ATTRACTIVE MALES/FEMALES made her wince. But she continued reading;

WANTED: MALE AND FEMALES (YOUNG AND ATTRACTIVE) WANTED FOR BAR WORK/ENTERTAINMENT

IF YOU'RE INTERESTED, PAY US A VISIT. PAY WILL VARY ON YOUR PERFORMANCE/APPEARANCE.

SERIOUS ENQUIRIES ONLY.

Betty considered. She wasn't drop dead gorgeous exactly, but she looked decent. Her blonde hair and blue eyes were definitely eye-catching, at least that's what her mother had said when she'd hounded her to get a boyfriend. She wasn't big boned or thin, she was right in the middle, average height and weight, average everything really.

The club was called "La Bonne Nuit" and according to the flier, it wasn't far away. Before she could think about what she was doing, Betty jumped up and cleared her college books and laptop up, stuffing them in her bag and put her jacket on. Her hair was a mess of curls hanging in her eyes, but maybe, just maybe, that's what the club wanted.

God, she hoped so.

The sky was darkening when she stepped into the light shower, cringing when she felt raindrops drizzle down her back. Thankfully she had a good memory of the town, so the club was easy to find. After walking around, staring at the crumpled and damp flier, she finally spotted it down an alleyway. It wasn't exactly surprising that a strip club was hidden down the rough side of Riverdale. The telltale flashes of colourful light shimmering on wet concrete, as well as the dull thrum of a pop song were a dead giveaway. The alley was dark and grotty, the stink of stale cigarettes and urine wafting in her nose. Betty walked quickly, flashing looks over her shoulder every few seconds to make sure she wasn't being watched. The doors were already open, as if inviting her in.

Holding her breath, Betty stepped inside, tripping over the bottom of the door, and very nearly falling on her face. But it wasn't her clumsiness that had sent her off balance. The club was pitch black. Her only sense of light was the erratic flash of lime green and crimson red every few seconds. The place was tiny, compared to what she was expecting. It was boxlike. And she could smell the overwhelming stench of body odour the more she fell into the crowd of people. There was an Avicci song blasting, and when Betty's eyes finally adjusted to the din of the club, did Betty see the sight in front of her.

Girls. They were dressed in shimmering sequins, wrapped around poles, perfect legs brushing silver, cascading hair flying in mesmerising arches. They moved to the music, their eyes somehow taking in every single person in the crowd. Betty took a slow step back, her heart beginning to pound. If that was the flier's idea of an "entertainer" then she was out. She allowed herself to sink into the blasting song, her gaze flitting across the club. The lights bounced across each table, illuminating golden skin wet with perspiration as each boy circled around their respective patron with practised confidence, hips swaying suggestively. Betty lost herself staring at a redheaded guy straddling the lap of a much older woman. The guy looked like he'd been pulled from a YA novel; perfectly sculpted skin that resembled marble and cherry red lips contrasting effortlessly with the mop of messy curls drooping over deep brown eyes.

The woman looked entranced by him, her gaze never leaving his as he moved to the music, his teeth, flashing in the spotlights, brilliant glistening spikes.

Betty jumped when someone flew past her, a tall girl with pink streaks in her hair holding a tray of drinks. She tore her gaze away from the redhead, scrunching the flier up in her hand. There was no way she could work here. These kids, they were like a different species. She couldn't imagine herself acting like that, so smooth, so confident in her body and image to go out there and give some random person a goddamn lap dance.

She turned back to the front, watching the girls on the poles. The redhead from the cafe was there, frozen in a pose. She wore nothing but a glittering two-piece and strappy heels. Betty watched the redhead twirl around the pole effortlessly, scarlet hair swinging around and around, making her dizzy.

She was trapped in a sort of daze, hypnotised by the redhead's movements, when someone grabbed her shoulder. "Betty?!"

That voice was all too familiar. Betty twisted around, finding herself staring at Veronica Lodge. Though it wasn't the Veronica she knew. This girl wore similar to what the redhead on the stage wore. A two piece glitter ensemble. Her hair was tied back, straying strands in heavily made up eyes. The girl was gaping at her, one hand planted on her hip. Next to her was a guy with dark curls, an amused smirk pulling at his lips. He was the only guy who was actually wearing clothes. Even if it was the bare minimum; a white shirt hanging off him by two flimsy buttons, and tailored jeans. Still, it was a start. The boy's eyes glinted, and Betty had trouble looking him in the eye. "Who's the new meat?"

Veronica scowled at the boy. "She's no one," she hissed, and the boy cocked his head, his smile widening. "Betty, what the hell are you doing here?"

Betty, for the first time in her life, was speechless. The way Veronica was speaking to her, the sudden frustration in her eyes, the twist in her lips. It choked the words at the back of her throat. Part of her wanted to leave and never step near the place again. Though a lingering piece of her longed to know this secret double life her friend apparently lived as a stripper. "I...." She swallowed hard, could feel the heat radiating in her cheeks. "I'm here for, uh..." Her gaze subconsciously travelled to the redhead, who was still grinding on the woman. Veronica's friend followed her gaze and laughed.

"A lap dance?"

When she couldn't reply, he nodded. "All right. Why don't you follow me..." he trailed off, prompting her for a name.

Betty struggled to follow him through the crowd. "Betty!" she yelled over the music. The boy led her to a small table, and gestured for her to sit down. It was too late to back out now. She sat promptly in a chair, sinking into expensive leather. "Is there someone I could talk to about a job here?" she asked Veronica who stood to the side, seething. "Like maybe bar work?"

The girl didn't answer, only giving her a sharp look before clattering off in her heels. The boy shot her a smile. "Gimme a sec, Betty. I'll go grab you one of our boys."

"No -" she started to say, but before she could get out the words, "I just want to talk to your boss!" she was drowned out by the music. She must have been waiting a few minutes before she felt a heavy weight suddenly press down on her lap. And in the darkness it was terrifying. Swallowing a shriek, she turned to find one of the boys sitting on her legs. At least, it was an outline of a boy. Underneath the lights, this boy seemed to be part shadow, his face cast in darkness. Betty could feel her cheeks slowly becoming an inferno. When she reached out to push the guy off of her, she only ended up touching his smooth chest, her fingers tracing thick muscle. She flinched when he changed his position, grabbing her hands and pulling them off of him.

"Are you in the wrong place?" His voice was smooth, like chocolate, a soft murmur in her ear that had the hairs on her neck standing up. She stared at the shadow of the boy, her heart hammering in her chest.

"No, actually I'm here for-"

"A job," he finished for her. "Part your legs."

She ignored him. "Yes, a job," she said. It was hard to take him seriously when he was drowned in shadow. It seemed crazy that the light wasn't hitting him at all. "Can I speak to your boss?"

She felt him lean back. "He's not a fan of time wasters."

"Time wasters?" she couldn't help hissing. "I'm not a time waster, I'm here about a job."  
The boy exhaled audibly, causing Betty to squint up at him. As the different orbs of light flickering throughout the room, Betty caught slight details of the boy’s profile. While he was still concealed in shadows, almost like the light wouldn’t completely settle over his lean frame, she couldn’t help but take in the way the skinny jeans clung to his legs like glue. He wore no shirt, and Betty could make out the light sheen of perspiration that caused his skin to glisten. He was definitely her age. Raven-coloured hair fell over his face, half-covering a set of eyes that had her reeling. She couldn’t quite distinguish what shade of blue they were – almost like a mix between stark grey and blazing cerulean. They were bright and shimmering like diamonds, and with the way a piece of dark hair fell over them, Betty wagered he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen in her life.  
But so was every other kid in the club, it seemed like.  
His expression gutted her, like she was a whole other species. His lips curled, bright blue eyes narrowing. He shifted in her lap. “All right, look. To put it simply, your nose is too big, your eyes are misshapen and weird looking, making you look slightly like an alien. Your hair looks like a bad dye job, like you glued cheese to your scalp and left it there. Oh, and you walk like a penguin."  
"How did you know -" she sputtered, and he cut her off automatically.

"I saw you walk in. Well, we all did. It was a good laugh watching you trip over like that. If you did that on stage, you'd get laughed off."

Betty stared back at him, waiting for him to laugh. But he didn't. His lips quirked into an arrogant smile. "We need confident, pretty girls who are willing to sell themselves to the stage." He eyed her. "No offence, but you look like you still live with your mom."

Her eyes were stinging. It was one thing to know all of her flaws, but to have them picked out by a stranger, some arrogant asshole who looked like a supermodel, sitting on her lap, she felt sick. The boy cocked his head.

"You're upset." He rolled his eyes when she struggled to protest, swiping tears quickly trickling down her cheeks. She expected the tiniest bit of empathy from him, but he simply shot her a cocky smile. "You don't belong here. So why not do us all a favour and beat it, princess."

She nodded, her chest heaving. "Get off me."

"Glady." He climbed off of her, blue eyes swimming under the spotlights. "Don't come back, blondie." With a half hearted salute, he walked away, and Betty's heart was splintering. Her chest was aching. She was sure if she moved, she was going to vomit.

After gathering herself, she managed to compose herself and pushed her way back through the crowd and out of the club, straight back into the cool, September air. As soon as she was sure there was nobody around, she allowed herself to break, pressing her fists into her eyes, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She sat on a bench for a long time, letting the asshole's words wash over her, confirming all her worst fears. While images of the girls drenched in hot pink lighting, and that endearing redhead wouldn't leave her mind.

But neither would the boy who had shattered what little confidence she had. Those piercing blue eyes and glinting teeth when he grinned, didn't seem to want to leave her memory. She must have sat there for hours, staring at her lap, losing herself in universes where she was accepted, and welcomed as an entertainer. The sky got darker and time dragged on, and by the time Betty had played over the same scenario several times in her head - her, scantily dressed in a sequin two piece like Veronica, spinning around a pole with made up eyes, hair that cascaded down her back perfectly, and a glittering shark smile stretched across her own lips - her fantasy quickly crumbling when the sound of swinging doors sliced through her thought process. She lifted her head, squinting in the darkness.

"Jug's an asshole. Sorry he pushed you away like that." Betty nearly jumped out of her skin. The girl from earlier, the redheaded beauty who had wowed the crowd, stood in front of her. She was still in barely anything, though the cold chill didn't seem to bother her. The girl's lips pricked into a smile. "You should speak to our boss," she said. "Trust me, he'll see something in you. And hey, if you'd like, I can take you to him?"

When the girl held out her hand, Betty couldn't help it. She took it hesitantly. Which was like grabbing ice. "Okay," she said softly, the word being dragged from her mouth before she could fully process it. It was like being stuck in a dream, where she couldn’t quite control her actions.

The girl nodded, and kept a tight hold of her upper arm, dragging her back over to La Bonne Nuit. But instead of taking her through the entrance doors, she pulled Betty down some steps leading to what she guessed was the way to the back. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Betty asked, her heart in her throat. "Your friend, uh - he didn't seem to like me very much."

The girl scoffed. "He's not my friend," she said. Betty was pulled through a beaten looking door, straight into a dark room, which the girl led her through, followed by a connecting hallway, which seemed to go on forever. It reminded Betty of a dorm hallway, the walls looked like they hadn’t been decorated - ever.

Betty spied a door at the end, and a coil of uneasiness began unravelling in her gut. To her surprise, the girl let go of her arm, smiling brightly. "I'm due on stage, so why don't you go and talk to him yourself?" When Betty opened her mouth to try and protest, she pointed to the door.

"It's just through there," the girl said. "Go on." She giggled. "Don't be afraid, we don't bite." Before she could speak, the girl was pushing through another door, the low thrum of music seeping in when she slipped through. "Good luck!"

Betty held her breath. The last thing she wanted was to become an entertainer, but maybe there was bar work going. Which was perfect. She edged towards the door, every step sending her heart into a frenzy. She reached out and grabbed the handle, twisting it before pulling it open. She expected to walk into a carpeted room, with maybe a desk, some bald guy with a lump of paperwork sitting behind an ancient laptop.

But instead, Betty stepped into darkness, the slap of her ballet flats hitting concrete made her cringe. She took a few steps forward, before the light flickered on, blinding her once more. And she found herself blinking through prisms dancing in her vision, at...steel bars. Dozens of them. And when she looked closer, she realised there were jail cells. Five of them on each side. The place was grimy; concrete walls, a crappy bulb sputtering light. Betty couldn't help it. She began her slow descent down the alley, peering into each cell. Each one was empty, but looked lived in. There was a bed, a thin blanket, and that was it. Every part of her was telling Betty to turn and run. And not stop running until she was safe at home with her mom. But her legs kept going, her breath thinning the more she saw. Finally, she came to the last cell. This one was occupied.

She took slow steps towards the cell, wrapping her hands around the cool steel bars. There were two guys slumped against the wall, their wrists shackled with heavy chains. She recognised them straight away. The boy with his head tipped back, eyes glued to the ceiling, was the redheaded boy she'd seen earlier. Except this time he was wearing a stained white shirt, his hair a shock of crimson. He wasn't smiling this time, instead his lips, smudged with red, were curled into a frown as he marvelled the grimy walls above him with childlike bafflement. And the boy next to him -

Her grip tightened on the bars. It was the asshole. But the arrogant smirk had been wiped from his face, replaced with a look of intense concentration as he stared at a book, which was opened on his lap. Both boys were sitting close together, though the chains that bound them made sure they couldn't completely touch. Betty exhaled, just managing to swallow a shriek. They were chained up. Locked up. These boys were prisoners.

The redhead jolted suddenly, like he'd been shocked, and his head snapped up, his eyes suddenly wide, hyper vigilant. He regarded her with curiosity before cocking his head, his lips slowly forming a smile, those teeth once again flashing dangerously.

"Hey there."  
The other boy’s demeanour changed, too, and not in a good way. Betty felt dread pool in the pit of her stomach when he looked up from his book, his bright blue eyes narrowed once more. It seemed to be a pattern with him, looking at her like she was more of an annoyance than a human being. Like the redhead, his lips were flushed a dark red, and Betty found her gaze locked on them as his tongue darted out, flicking over his bottom lip.  
The redhead no longer looked calm and collected, like in the club. It was like looking at a different guy. He was on his feet in seconds, grinning wildly at her. But when he lurched forwards, the chains held him back. Book Boy hissed at him. "Cool it, Arch!"

"But I'm hungry!" he whined back, and Betty's heart lurched. They were being starved?

The dark haired boy ignored the redhead, before turning his attention to Betty.

"You?" She flinched when he jumped up, ragging on the chain still binding his wrist. It clanged loudly, scathing her ears. "I told you to leave!"

Betty glared back at him. Tied up or not, he was still an ass. "You're locked up," she managed to choke out, and the boy looked incredulous.

"Thanks for pointing that out." He scowled. He gestured to his friend, who was staring at her, that unnerving smile never leaving his lips. "You're lucky we're tied up," he said, his gaze flitting from Betty to the redhead. "Like I said, blondie. Leave."

"No," she found herself saying. No matter how much the two boys were scaring the crap out of her, especially the redhead, she stayed put. "I'm - I'm going to get you out of here, okay?" She was breathless, pawing the cell door for some kind of key hole.

“Just – fuck.” The raven haired boy tossed his book to the floor before taking another step forward, but his movements were halted by the chain. He’d gone as far as his restraints would allow him, and Betty felt bile rise up in her, because who would do this to them? What was even going on? They were dancing and working in the club and now they’re chained up in cells? “It’s reinforced steel. You’re not going to jar the doors open with your super-human strength.”

Gaze hardening, Betty opened her mouth to snarl something back at him, because seriously? She was trying to save them! The words never went past the tip of her tongue, because two things happened simultaneously. One – her finger slid over a jagged piece of the cell, slicing her finger open. Her gasp was barely audible, but both boys immediately stopped moving, their attention focused and locked on her finger, which she pulled away from the steel, beads of blood welling from pale flesh. Two – a door opened, causing Betty to spin around, her breath catching in her throat when a man appeared. He was average in height, his muscles thick and corded through the jacket of a form-fitting suit.

“Now what do we have here?”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave kudos if you liked, and thank you for reading! <3


End file.
